


First Come, First Serve

by icenaan (nilscellania)



Category: Pirate101 (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Feels, Canon Related, Childhood Trauma, Disturbing Themes, Gen, High Fantasy, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Moral Bankruptcy, Multi, POV Multiple, Sky Pirates, Treasure Hunting, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, all characters are 18+, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:05:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27010150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nilscellania/pseuds/icenaan
Summary: It was just supposed to be another mark; they didn't think Gunn's loot would actually lead to something far beyond their wildest dreams. Now the Shatterhands crew must embark on an epic quest to search for El Dorado, the legendary city that will make ANY thieving scoundrel rich beyond compare. If only they can find Marco Pollo's map and lose those damn clockworks, somehow.
Relationships: Ammy & Gazpaccio, Ammy & Kane, The Shatterhands
Kudos: 1





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I... fucked up and deleted everything by accident, so now I have to reupload it, jfc. Sorry about that y'all.

_ With pink locks bouncing along to his every step, the young apprentice skipped down the long hallway in search of Nonno’s study. A bright grin adorned his olive-toned face, and hummed a random tune under his breath. The sketchbook held in his small fingers was flipped to an open page, and exhibited a charcoal drawing of a gear-like castle in the sky. This was his best work as of yet—or at least he considered it to be so—as the idea came to him in a dream from last night. _

_ Upon finding the study, where the door had been left slightly ajar, the little boy lit up. “Nonno, I’m here!” he announced, causing said man to swivel around in his chair to face him. _

_ “Ah, mio caro,” he greeted with arms open wide. He ran up to embrace him, allowing himself to be lifted up and placed on his lap. “Seems like you're more cheerful than usual today, did something good happen?” _

_ The apprentice nodded eagerly. “I drew another picture, look!” he proceeded to show off his art with pride. “It was from this really cool dream I had! With big castles and toy soldiers, and stuff!” _

_ Amused, Nonno chuckled and gave him a pat on the head. “That so? No wonder it looks so good! Your imagination seems to have no limit.” _

‘What careful detail, though,’ _ observed he,  _ ‘And so  _ awfully _ vivid, like it’ll come to life any minute now…’

_ Before he could ponder more on it, the elder’s thoughts were interrupted by his apprentice’s gasps. He was staring at the blueprints splayed across the desk, baby blues glittering in awe over the intricate designs. “Is this your new project, Nonno?” he asked, clearly excited. _

_ “Haha, indeed. See all that equipment back there? Those will be put to good use for our new friend here.” _

_ “New friend? They’ll be living with us?” _

_ “Yes, figlio mio, as my helper and your protector. In fact, why don’t you name them? I’m sure you’ll be better at it than me.” _

_ “Eh? Really?” when Nonno confirmed with a nod, the smile on the rosy-haired child grew wider. “Yay! I’ll do my best to give them a good one!” _

_ There was a fondness in his eyes as he watched him contemplate on what to call his design. He’d pull an expression like a light bulb went off on his head, before frowning and muttering, “no, that won’t work…” This went on for several more moments, until he did another ‘aha!’ look. _

_ “Have you finally come up with something?” _

_ “Yes! I know a perfect name for them, I do!” _

_ The old toymaker chuckled, “What is it, then?” _

_ “Well,” began the apprentice, “From now on, they’ll be called—!” _


	2. Of Hangovers & Hostages (pt. 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Titania doesn't make the best decisions when drunk, but this has to be by far her stupidest one yet.

Mornings suck in general, but they’re pure _hell_ when a hangover is involved.

Julien wakes to a headache ringing against his skull, and groans at the pain of it all. Yellow eyes pinched together, vision still groggy, he was blinded momentarily by the sunlight leaking out from the window. _‘Fuck, my head,’_ a hand flies up to his forehead to clutch at it. _‘The fuck even went on last night?’_

When he rises to sit up, the covers slip off his chest, and notices that he is shirtless. Julien then looks over to find two others in bed with him, a man and a woman. They lied on either side of him, just as butt-naked, and peacefully snoring away. His fingers comb through his brown bed-hair, musing about last night’s events, _‘Huh, no wonder why it kinda smells, still.’_

As the pirate was about to get up and refreshen himself, the bedroom door quietly creaks open. Thin, nail-polished fingers grasp at its wooden surface, and peeking inside was the multi-colored gaze of his redheaded teammate, Choua. “Ah, Captain, you’re already up.” she says in greeting, proceeding to make her entrance, while carefully balancing a tray full of piping-hot breakfast. Aside from bed-partners, she’s always the first one he sees in the morning, as she considers it her duty to fetch him from the local brothel. (But Julien knows it’s _really_ because Zak is getting tired of, quote-unquote, _“babysitting your ass more than I already do”_ ).

“Morning, Cee,” so as to not disturb either courtesan, he scoots off to the end of the bed and picks up his briefs. “Smells good, what is it?”

“Polarian toast and strawberries, with black coffee for your hangover,” answers Choua, setting the tray down on a nearby table. “Something a little lighter, this time, after last night’s activities.”

“Heh, that’s one way to put it,” popping a bit of toast into his mouth, Julien gives her a quick once-over, before reaching out to fiddle with her shirt collar. Except the shirt isn’t _really_ hers, given that it’s thrice her size and keeps slipping off her shoulders. “So, was he any good or nah?”

“...let’s just say I understand why you, Nia, and Tay keep frequenting these establishments.”

At that, Julien burst into a fit of laughter. “Enjoyed him that much, eh? Didn’t think your first time would be with a wolf, though. Ain’t he a viking, too, or something?”

“ _Ex_ -viking, more like, since he’s now a bouncer here. He’d also been nothing but a gentleman to me, so the experience was very pleasant throughout.”

“Ooh, sounds like a real catch. Think you’ll seek him out again?”

“If he’s willing to have me, then I’ll be most grateful.”

⚜

Hangovers are a bitch to have, so Titania usually sobers herself up by taking a walk around town. It’s an odd image to see, given her boisterous character, but the peaceful lull of morning is something she likes to bask in. When light begins to descend on land, and the only noises that can be heard are overhead caws of skarakeets.

She lets go of a long yawn, and scratches the back of her flaxen head. Even with droopy, reddened eyes, she can still make out her surroundings. Port Regal’s streets are quiet at the moment, the buildings along its cobblestone route hugged by shadows. A cool breeze whistles through, and carries over the smell of salt from the skyways. Few subjects ambled about, namely laborers and marines who are to rise early for work.

Titania could feel their gazes upon her, narrowed in wariness, but she paid it no mind like in any other instance. Not that she can blame them, either, she and Roslyn _did_ get pretty noisy last night. (There’s also the fact that she left the windows open, so… whoops).

Yawning a second time, the blonde arches her back to pop the kinks out. _‘Alright, let’s head back now,’_ she decides, _‘Gotta see what Cee has cooked up for today.’_

All of a sudden, when her heel turned to walk in the opposite direction, something solid crashed into her back. “Oi, what the—” she frowns and whips her head around to check on this random disturbance. Which came in the form of a short and meager guy about her age, looking like he got shipwrecked— his pink tresses are a tangled mess, and the nightgown he’s wearing is damp and stuck to his olive skin. Panic radiated off of him in waves, blue eyes wide and darting all over the place as if to watch out for someone.

_“Per favore!”_ yelps the stranger, his falsetto emphasized by his unfamiliar accent. _Monquistan? Or Aquilan? Gods, I hope not._ “ _Mi aiuti per favore_ , I’m being chased!”

While this isn’t how first meetings normally go, Titania has seen enough oddities in her criminal career to even be phased by his words. “Who’s chasing you?” she asks, not being one to beat around the bush.

“I… soldiers…” he trembles, almost looks nervous just by opening his mouth. _Soldiers? Don’t see him being chased by any of these redcoats here, though._ “J-just need to hide—”

“Our little game ends here, _Scacchi_ ,” a hollow, stony voice then rang, draining any lingering color from his face as it morphs into utter horror. Titania briefly wonders if more weirdos will show up, finding a group—no, a _squad_ —of masked, black-clad men wielding rifles with stiff-straight postures. Front and center stood the corporal (must be, he’s the only one with a cape), who drums his fingers against the head of his cane. “As much as you want to continue, I’m afraid you cannot play any longer. My orders are to escort you back home safely and immediately.”

Said long-haired male shakes his head, and scoots even closer to Titania (oh, if only he were a woman, she would’ve tolerated it more). _“Per favore,”_ repeats he, scared and trembling, “Don’t leave me with them…”

She could feel her headache grow worse the more she stays with _Scacchi_ and his creepy bodyguards. _‘It’s_ way _too early to be dealing with spoiled brat and his drama…’_ the blonde grumbles, until a light bulb suddenly pops up above her. _‘Wait,_ spoiled _?’_

Looking between the pursued and pursuer, her hungover mind starts to sharpen itself. _‘If this boy’s runaway, and a bunch of bodyguards are after him…’_ she could feel the corners of her lips twitch a bit, vision clouded by gold. _‘Oh, I can_ definitely _use this…’_

She steps forward and grabs _Scacchi’s_ wrist at the same time. The troop’s attention is now on Titania, weapons raised for the ready. But it’s nothing she hasn’t already been through, she just needs to think quick. “Psst!” she hisses at him over her shoulder. “Are you fast runner?”

_Scacchi_ blinks in confusion for a moment, before murmuring back that he isn’t. She reacts with a tongue-click, _‘Yeah, figured as much.’_

“Whoever you are, it’s in your best interest to remove yourself from my ward,” the squad leader cuts in. “If you refuse to comply, then I’ll deem it necessary to use force.”

“Geez, harsh much?” Titania's nose wrinkles. “Why not talk this out instead, man to man? Maybe over a pint, too, if you’d like. Tavern’s just down this road—”

“I won’t repeat myself again— step away from my ward, _now_.”

“...what were you gonna do if I don’t, again?”

To answer her query, the leader signals for the infantry to take aim at her with a raised hand. Usually, looking into a gun’s barrel while it’s pointed at you is enough to make anyone cry and maybe shit their pants, but not the pirate. The way her heart pounds against her chest isn’t from fear— the danger of getting shot, the thought of action and violence, all of it makes her ruby eyes grow wide in _utter_ excitement.

Ah, if only she were in better condition, she would’ve liked to go all out. But she knows better than to square up against a group hungover and unarmed, especially when there are rifles pointed at her head. (Something only certified amateurs do if they’re dumb, drunk, or both). So, there’s only one thing left to do in this situation…

Quick as lightning, Titania grabs and tosses _Scacchi_ over her shoulder, then dashes across the alleyway with bullets firing towards her. She manages to avoid and dodge every single one, as they just whiz past her or land near her boots. Screams began to ring all the while, from those outside to those waking up in their homes, fear of an unknown attack stirring up among them.

“You fools, be careful where you shoot,” she can hear the corporal ground out to his lackeys in the distance. “She _still_ has the charge, and if he dies, you’ll _all_ receive termination as punishment.”

Said target couldn’t help but snort when she heard that, remarking, “You’re very loved, eh? Gives your folks more of an incentive to spend fortune on your safe return.”

“Incentive?... _a-aspetta_ , what’re yo— _EHH!?”_

_Scacchi_ yelps when Titania proceeds to run up and scale the pipes along the brick walls, baffled that she's even this graceful with just one hand. Not to mention that, at the same time, she's somehow able to evade the shots flung towards her, too— _just who_ is _this woman, really?_

Titania hops from one rooftop to another in order to create some distance between her and the bodyguards (though she doubts that they'll start chasing her up here, unless they suddenly know how to parkour as well). After a few more minutes of sprinting, she decides to finally stop at the shingled roof of a church, and hide themselves behind its bell tower.

“Ugh, that was tiring,” she groans, not caring that _Scacchi_ slipped off her shoulders gracelessly, leaning against the tower in exhaustion. Placing a hand on the back of her neck, the blonde rotates her neck to give it a crack, then hums in satisfaction once all the kinks are popped out. _I should_ not _do this the next time I’m hungover._

“Th-thank you so much!” relief colors _Scacchi’s_ falsetto, looking to his savior in gratefulness. “I wouldn’t know what to do if you hadn’t saved me—”

“Woah, woah, stop right there,” she interrupts him, holding a hand up to his face. “Don’t be thanking me, ‘cause frankly, I didn’t do this outta _‘goodness of my heart’_ or whatever the fuck.”

When she looks down on him, _Scacchi_ nervously gulps at the hard stare of her red eyes. “The only good thing about you rich folks is your money. So once your people pay me and my crew the ransom, you’ll have no more use as a hostage afterwards. Get it now?”

“Erm... _sì_...?”

“Tsk, how obedient. You really are perfect hostage-material, huh? Don’t worry, though, it’s not like we'll turn you into our servant. All you gotta do is sit there and look pretty, which shouldn’t be too hard for you, yeah?”

“ _Be-bene_...”

Clicking her tongue again, Titania opts to not say another word, slightly leaning forward to check if the street is clear. _‘Got to hurry to others, those bastards probably aren’t too far behind,’_ she thought to herself. _‘Now that I think about it, they seem_ awfully _familiar for some reason...’_

However, before she could ponder more on it, suddenly, there came a panicked shriek of _“NO, LOOK OUT!”_ from her newly-obtained hostage. She wouldn’t have time to do so as a strange, winged-figure blurs before her, and gives her head a resounding smack. The force of it knocks her out almost instantly, collapsing on the shingles like a marionette whose strings got cut off.

_“...o!... on… pu… obbli… a… lo!”_

The last thing Titania would remember seeing are a pair of hands reaching out for her, until her eyelids shut and let her succumb to the darkness.

⚜

The floorboards creak beneath his feet as Zakhi rushes up the stairs, panic evident in his tousled, blue hair and faint streaks of rogue smeared across his lips. He also tries to pull on his underwear at the same time, and nearly trips over himself in the process.

_‘Why’s that even in the early morning, she_ can’t _stay outta trouble?’_ he groans exasperatedly, fixing the elastic article into place, purple eyes darting around to figure out which room Julien stayed in. Luckily, he didn’t have to look for very long, as he saw him run out into the hallway with Choua in tow. “Jules!” he calls out, meeting them halfway. “Bad news, it’s Nia.”

“Nia? You think she was behind those gunshots from earlier?”

“Worse. One o’ the lads went to check what happened, and he saw a squad o’ black-clad soldiers taking her unconscious body with them. Said they were heading straight for the docks.”

The news makes Julien pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh like he was already exhausted. _Dammit Nia, why can’t your morning walks be more peaceful?_ “Looks like a rescue is our first priority for today. And what about Tay, where is he?”

“He already went out to search the docks. If by chance he’s unable to, then he’ll at least prepare the ship.”

“Alright. Let’s get a move on then, before Nia does something even stupider. Oh, Cee, if you could…”

“Of course, Captain,” by his request, said person gives her fingers a snap. With a small, magical _poof!_ , what appears on their bodies are comfortable clothes and scabbards with blades inside.

Now properly dressed, the trio quickly set out for the docks. Stationed all the way at the far end is the _Corsair’s Pearl_ , a humble skiff made of dark wood and displaying red sails. They’ve been driving it around Skull Island skyways for four years, obtaining (more like confiscating, really) it from a rat-pack leader who failed to pay off his debts. Pacing across the deck was Otaktay, who had wheeled the anchor up and is now rigging the sails.

“Tay!” Julien shouts his nickname as he and the other two climb aboard. “You seen the kidnappers?”

“Wouldn’t be readyin’ the ship if I didn’t,” remarks his white-haired companion, pausing in his work a bit to observe the sky. Once his right-green eye zeroed in on a particular spot, he sticks his index finger to point out, “...there, that’s where they took her!”

Julien follows his line of sight. In the near distance, the tip of a bowsprit was peeking out from the clouds, until they parted to reveal the ship in its entirety. It was a golden galleon with black sails, and echoes the faint rings of machinery as it makes way for Valencia’s stormgate.

_Wait..._ Valencia’s _stormgate?_

Snapping his head up to take another look, Julien's eyes widened in shock over his last-minute realization. _Fucking_ fuck _, are you fucking kidding me?_ “Tay, prepare the cannons, and Cee, put a concealment spell over us now!” commands he, the floorboards practically reverberating from his booming yells, “Zak, pump in all the fuel we got, we’re going after that ship!”

He didn’t need to say it twice, as his members immediately jumped right into their respective tasks. He hurries over to his usual post by the ship’s wheel, knuckles turning white from how hard he gripped it. “Not yet,” the brunet murmurs to himself, his expression growing more and more dim.

_Not ‘til I get my hands on every single one of those bastards._


	3. Of Hangovers & Hostages (pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They aren't the fairy tale-knights Scacchi often dreams of being saved by, but he can make do with them.

_Scacchi_ is locked up in the great cabin of the _Erebus,_ curling on the king-sized bed with his feet chained to the bedpost. He grips the silk sheets to feel more secure, his anguished sobs blending with the ongoing boom of explosions outside. All the weeks, months, _years_ he spent planning for this day now ended up all for naught. If he doesn’t rot staying imprisoned in Valencia, then he’ll die right here on this ship without even obtaining the freedom he so desperately longs for.

And that poor woman inside the brig, too, _oh dio_. Thinking about her and the sentence that will befall her just for helping someone she barely knows— it only depresses him further. _“Mi dispiace,”_ he whimpers, wishing he could tell her in person before they’re both reduced to ashes. _“Mi dispiace così tanto…”_

However, if there’s one constant to _Scacchi_ , it’s his stubbornness. The burden of failure doesn’t keep him down for long, quick to shake his rosy head and rub off his tears. _‘No, I mustn’t cry, not at a time like this,’_ he resolves, newfound conviction making its way onto his face (though he still jumps in fear of the back-and-forth firing). _‘I can play my cards right, I can get the both of us out of here. Just how, though, considering…’_

The damsel turns to his shackled ankles, lips pursing, and lifts them up to give a small shake. The metal chain rattles against the bedpost’s wooden surface, a sort of castanets that plays off of his imprisonment. _‘I mean, I can try to pick the lock, but…’_ his frown deepens, sky-like eyes darting around the room, _‘there’s nothing long and sharp here. And I doubt_ that _man will leave me something so useful, anyway…’_

Suddenly, impeding his thinking was a loud _clang!_ from the other side of the door, with a thud on the floor quickly following suit. _Scacchi_ scrambles to sit up and presses his hands close to his chest, as if that will somehow protect him from whatever’s outside. He watches the doorknob wiggle side-to-side for a bit, hearing a muffled _“fok dit,”_ before the entire door is kicked off its hinges and crashes into the wall.

While he squawks at the brute display of strength, a dark, well-built man steps over the guardsmen he just knocked out and strolls into the cabin. He’s about _Scacchi’s_ age with curly, sapphire hair and amethyst-sharp eyes, and a long, jagged scar that runs down the middle of his chiseled face. He kind of reminds him of those marble statues from Aquila, towering images made to depict power and glory personified. But the narrowed gaze he gives is more intimidating than heroic, asking, “I can assume yer a prisoner, right?” in a voice as deep as a summer night.

“ _S-sì_ , I am,” confirms _Scacchi_ , slow and nervous. _What could he possibly want with me?_ “And you are…?”

“Just call me Holystone,” was the other male’s introduction, his attitude gruff, “C’mon, Cee doesn’t want a bystander’s soul to get in the way o’ our fight. Unless ye wanna stay ‘cause ye don’t give a shite or something.”

_Cee? Souls?_ “Umm… understood, but…” he eyes his feet once more, sheepish, “I’m a… a little stuck…”

Holystone clicks his tongue, mutters something along the lines of _“doing everything myself,”_ as he procures a small switchblade from his pants pocket. He walks over to jam it into the lock’s key-hole— he twists and turns it that way, his lips pressed into a thin, concentrated line. After a few more minutes, there came a victorious _click!,_ and the chain binding the distressed rosette was now no more.

Seeing the shackles fallen on the miragean rug makes him want to cry again, only this time, out of relief than his earlier despair. But before he could get a chance to express his utmost gratitude, he’s picked up by the collar of his nightgown, and tossed over Holystone’s shoulder like a light-weight potato sack.

“ _Cosa—_?”

“It’s easier this way, so I don’t hafta wait for ye to catch up to speed.”

“A-ah, _capisco_ …”

As fast as the winds, the duo proceed to race across the long, winding halls of the _Erebus_ ship. It still quakes from the force of enemy fire, and has multiple, lightning-charged holes punctured into the walls and ground. In-tune to the chaos is the stomping of boots in the near distance, no doubt troops rushing to the gun deck to keep up the counter-assault. Holystone kept close to a corner when he saw a few soldiers march nearby, his grip firm on the handle of his battleaxe (and on _Scacchi’s_ waist, whose cheeks flushed from not being touched by another human in _so_ long).

He peeks out carefully, senses open for even the slightest action. _‘Prob’ly one half’s staying down to operate the cannons, while the other’s abovedeck in case of a trespassing,’_ he theorizes. _‘For now, just gotta make sure I’m not seen— I won’t be able to fight all of ‘em alone, an’ with one hand tied too, ‘cause of this…’_

The pirate glances at the Valencian through his peripheral vision. When Cee said she detected energy coming from the captain’s cabin, he was expecting someone who’s… well, _not_ wide-eyed and high-pitched, and naïve enough to let random others just manhandle him (show a little resistance or something, honestly). What kind of life does he even lead that warranted him to get arrested by the _Valencian navy,_ anyway?

_‘Eh, must be some little lord if these guys are trying so hard to keep him,’_ making sure that the coast is clear, Hawkins removes himself from the wall. _‘But enough about him, I still needa look for Jules. He shoulda found Nia by now as well…’_

Just then, a noise came from behind, cavalier boots clicking against the trembling floorboards. Ears perked up in alert, _Scacchi_ could feel his heart race, apprehensive of the possibility of getting caught and forced back into his chains. However, there was an exasperated click of a tongue, “Oi, what took ye so long?” as some more strangers rounded the corner. There were two of them, as tall and fit as his savior, and wielding sharpened blades gleaming amongst the shadows.

“Patience, Zak, you’ll get your loving from me soon enough,” a low voice teases Holystone, belonging to a tawny-haired man with candlelit eyes, and smirking crookedly like his surroundings were part of a fun game to bet on. _Scacchi_ found him as handsome as the illustrated knights in his fairy tale-books— up until the moment his attention then slid onto him, and he couldn't help the abrupt chill that broke throughout his body. _N-non… non esiste…_

“What do we have here?” the brunet cocks a brow, looking up and down his form with an unreadable expression. It all bloomed an uneasy feeling within his chest, as if he discovered a secret about him unknown to even himself ( _secrets only the devil is privy to—_ ). “...say, didn’t you try to snatch this earlier, Nia?”

A snort rings beside him, “Only ‘cause I thought he was made outta gold,” and it came from _Scacchi’s_ previous rescuer, the platinum-blonde and ruby-eyed woman, who shrugged in nonchalance ( _grazie a dio sta bene_ ). “Ended up being more trouble than it’s worth, though.”

“Agreed, if ye weren’t such a dumbass in the first place, we wouldn’t even have to be here.”

“Oi, I already heard the lecture from Jules, I don't need to hear it from you also.”

“Maybe ye should listen again, so ye can get it through yer thick skull once an’ for all.”

“At ease, kiddos,” Jules cut in right as things could escalate (though he doesn’t sound too troubled, suggesting that he’s used to such shenanigans). “Save the fighting for later, alright? We still have a ship to bust out of.”

Ignoring the two scowling at each other, Jules reaches up for the hoop dangling from his right ear, and grabs the bit of peridot carefully. For some odd reason, he starts to speak into it, “Yo, guys, how we looking over there?” he pauses, making a face like he’s listening to someone from the other side. “Shit, that bad, huh… We’ve got no other choice, just try to keep stalling them until I can give you the signal… don’t worry ‘bout it, you’ll know when you see it, ‘kay?”

“So what’s happening now?” Nia and Zak gave up their glaring contest when he hangs up, sighing tiredly in response, “The ship can’t hold up much longer the more damage it sustains. We only have a two-minute window starting now, and once time’s up, we gotta jump ship with or without all of us.”

“The troops upstairs, though, what’ll we do ‘bout them?”

“Hmm… I don’t know, try _not_ to die by their hand?”

“...fair ‘nough.”

With a nod to one another, the trio (plus their befuddled hostage) wasted no time in heading for the exit located down the hallway's end, their pace miraculously steady across the quivering floors. Wen grabs the latch and pulls on it, allowing bright light to wash over their faces as they sprint up the stairs.

They could feel the winds lick at their skin, noses hit with the mixed stench of skysalt and gunpowder. Standing across from them were the masked, black-clad troops— robust and imposing, and brandishing cannons as large as them. Even amidst the chaos, explosions going off in every direction, they only stand there— most likely in wait of a green-light from their leader, who stayed at the very back, his gloved fingers drumming away on his cane.

_‘Deacon...’_ _Scacchi_ winces at the sight of him, knuckles whitening from how tightly he fists Holystone’s shirt. So devoted is he to _that man_ , that he’ll _willingly_ sail multiple skyways and chase him into other worlds, using all the resources and strategies he can pool in. _‘I can’t tell who’s more frightening, but I wouldn’t like to know. Never again...’_

_“Scacchi,”_ began Deacon, not paying any sort of heed to the people surrounding him, “I thought I instructed that you not leave your cabin until further notice, but no matter. Just stay right where you are, I’ll come collect you after I deal with these scoundrels.”

The rosette’s teeth dug into his bottom lip, wanting so badly to speak out against him, if only he weren't held back by his long-standing fear. It's ironic, really— he has the audacity to run away from home, yet can't even work up the nerve to back-talk once he actually makes it outside.

“Yeesh, what a rude person you are,” abruptly, his train of thought was cut off by Jules. “Not gonna greet your guests even if we came all this way to visit?”

“I’ve no reason to acknowledge the presence of pirates, especially when they’re the aggressors trying to make off with my ward.”

“Ha! With what all your kind has done up to now, I think this is the _least_ you deserve. Still, struggle’s a nice look on you, you should wear it more often.”

“I grow weary of your prattling,” Deacon gives a raise of his cane and waves it around like a conductor to an orchestra. “Angels! Apprehend the criminals, but take care in securing the ward!”

By his booming order, a trio of women suddenly descend from the ashen curtain of smoke. Each had large, mechanical wings extending from their backs, which they leverage to swoop after the quartet at high speeds. They flung out their rapiers and lunged at them, except their fast reflexes enable them to dodge, and parry with their own weapons. Metal clashed against metal, the chiming sharpness echoing into the air.

_“Captain,”_ Jules can hear from his hoop earring, using his two daggers to push off the blade’s edge about to land on his face. _“Please hurry, the last hit will be prepared in one minute.”_

“I’m—” he grunts, vexed by his opponent’s strength, “Working on it!” from his peripheral vision, he notices that Zak is having difficulty blocking (especially since he’s still carrying that Scotch-guy), while Nia is leaning backwards against the railing to avoid her throat getting slit.

_‘Fuck, we can’t stay like this forever. What else is there to do, though...!?’_

Knowing that a decision needs to be made and quick, Jules proceeds to whirl behind the angel. But just as she could turn around, he grabs her wrist and twists it up her back, before forcing her close to stab her in the chest multiple times. Once she expires and collapses on the ground, the pirate wastes no time in throwing his knives straight at the heads of his crewmate's attackers, one by one. “Thanks,” they nod at him, shoving the corpses off of them.

_“Captain,”_ calls Cee from the other side of his earring, worried. _“There’s only thirty seconds left.”_

“Ah, perfect timing. Up to you two, now, to get us out of here.”

_“If that’s our signal, it's a shitty one.”_

“Shut up, Tay, I was preoccupied earlier.”

Just then, the sound of applause rang nearby, the group looking up to see Deacon clapping slowly. “Impressive. Perhaps I shouldn’t underestimate you lot too much. However...” he taps his cane against the floorboards, to which the rest of soldiers begin to prop their cannons up on their shoulders and take aim. “You’re sadly mistaken to think you can stand up to the might of the Armada.”

_“Captain, only twenty seconds left, get ready.”_

“Well,” Jules moves closer to his companions and reaches for their hands, firmly interlocking his fingers with theirs. “We _are_ standing right now, so...”

_“Fifteen seconds.”_

Gloved fingers start to apply pressure on the trigger. “Don’t make me have to destroy you. Hand over my charge and surrender this instant.”

_“Ten seconds.”_

He grins, as if his threats were the most amusing things to hear in the world. “Sounds like fun.”

_“Five seconds.”_

Gloved fingers go to make a pull on the trigger.

_“Fire!”_

Right before shots could be fired, a huge ball of fireworks burst out from the seemingly-empty space beside the _Erebus_. Its convulses grow harsher— more holes punctured into the wood, more flames formed out of the sparks scattered across the deck. The troops were even led to trip and collapse, weapons slipping from their grasps, limbs clinking and clanking from impact.

Once the mushroom-shaped smoke was able to ease up a bit, the pirates were nowhere to be found, as if they vanished along with the ashes.

“Damn it, they made away with the ward. This will not end up well for _anybody_ involved,” curses the spymaster.

“They better enjoy their freedom while it lasts— they will soon _regret_ making an enemy of the Armada.”

⚜

When it comes to mornings, Dougal Norrington doesn’t expect much action (besides waking to his partner’s sleeping face, probably dreaming of eating even more pickled herring)— but he supposes that with the _Shatterhands_ crew, something interesting is bound to happen.

“Great Scotty, Eastwick, you look as if you crawled out of hell,” was his greeting while the members trudge across the plank, sweaty and exhausted, not caring much for the bewildered stares his own crew is giving them. Their ship is parked next to the _Catspaw_ , looking just as worse for wear— with the sails and mast close to collapsing, and mushroom puffs of smoke pouring out of the splintered holes. This, combined with the ungodly noises from outside earlier, it doesn’t take long for Norrington to come to an obvious conclusion.

“Oh, you’ve _no_ idea,” Julien remarks, he and the others slumping against the walls for rest. “Doesn’t help that we still feel the effects of last night's hangover.”

“Yes, your first day-off since you found Gunn’s gold,” Norrington recalls how quickly the news spread, of them chasing Ratbeard around, and stringing him up over a volcano pit until he agreed to forfeit his entire loot (really, kids these days are growing up to be more and more sadistic). “So why’d your ship turn out like this?”

“Let’s just say we kinda pissed someone off, but if you wanna hear it from the beginning, then ask Nia ‘bout it,” ignoring the spluttered _“lemme live!”_ in the background, Julien stretches for a bit to pop out the kinks in his limbs. “Anyway, mind if I ask you for a favor?”

“Does it gotta do with your ship?”

“Sort of; I know you got spares lying around, so would it be fine to borrow one? At least ‘til we get a new one.”

“It’s no problem at all, but I don’t think you’ll like your options much.”

“Eh, it’s not like I’m a picky person. Oh, and another thing,” suddenly, the captain makes a grab for his pink-haired captive, who grows flushed yet jittery by the close proximity between them. “So Scotch, or whatever the hell he’s called—”

“I-it’s Ammy, actually...”

“... _Aimé’s_ new to Skull Island and doesn’t know which’s right or left, so I’m thinking maybe I can drop him off here and you’ll decide what to do—”

_“A-aspetta,”_ Ammy interrupts once more, eyes wide and not understanding why he’s being abandoned. “I can’t go with you guys?”

Julien cocks a brow at his confused face, saying, “Uhh, duh?” like it’s the most obvious answer. “This isn’t a hostage situation, and I’m pretty sure you’re not worth any ransom, so... yeah, I don’t plan to keep you much longer.”

“‘Sides, shouldn’t ya be happy that you’re being let go?” chimes Otaktay from the side, “Most prisoners would _kill_ to be in your situation— hell, I know I would.”

“But... but you guys saved me, e-even if unintentionally...” in spite of his fumbling words, Ammy tries pushing through. _If not, I’ll still just be my useless self…_ “How else will I pay my debt to you, then?”

Zakhi then snorts, “If we wanted payment, we woulda said so already. Seriously, don’t try to be indebted to a _pirate crew_ o’ all things, ye sound like ye want to be taken advantage of.”

“No, b-but I can work hard! I know how to do things!”

“...this kid’s not even listening.”

“Perhaps we should at least hear his offers first, and then we can draw up a conclusion.”

“ _S-sì,_ I have a lot to offer!” the Valencian nods fervently, baby-blues ablaze in determination. “I actually know a bit about machines, so... so I can definitely help repair your ship!”

“Oi,” began Otaktay, a possessive scowl twisting his lips. “I don’t care if ya desperate, don’t come after a job that’s already _mine_.”

“ _Sc-scusa,_ that wasn’t my intention! Erm... I mean, I... I can cook!”

“Uhh, that’s _our_ job, though,” Zakhi points to Choua and himself.

“...cleaning? Doing the laundry?”

Titania checks her nails boredly. “Yeah, done by _everyone_.”

Julien doesn’t say anything, only watches the exchange with his arms crossed and his foot tapping an impatient staccato. He stares Ammy down, unimpressed.

Defeated, his shoulders fall and he sighs, willing himself to not tear up. Hands clasped together, he presses them close to his chest and looks up at the brunet. _“Per favore, signor,”_ he begs even in the face of rejection, “I know that I seem unsuitable for this kind of thing, but... but the only place that I feel is worthwhile is by your side...”

Mouth still kept shut, Julien’s gaze narrow. He weighs his options— while he finds Ammy to be a nuisance and would like nothing more than to ditch his ass, he can’t help but respect him in a sense. Not many people would volunteer to be a criminal, especially when there’s plenty of legal, _safer_ paths to walk down on. Of course, this might just be him acting stubborn or straight-up naivë, trying to bite off more than he can chew— and yet, that makes it all the more interesting to see.

With a tongue-click, Julien then makes, “Fuck it, I don’t see why not,” as his final decision. Needless to say, all four of his companions (even Norrington) were shocked, Ammy most especially.

“Jules, you for real?” the first to speak out was Otaktay, Titania following after him with a raised eyebrow, “What brought about this sudden change of heart?”

“Eh, figured a new change in scenery might be fun,” he shrugs, before smirking dimly, “Plus, don’t you wanna see how long he can last?”

“Yes, especially considering his constitution,” Choua tilts her head in intrigue. “But he’s a rather persistent one, so I bet he’ll _at least_ make it to two weeks. Fifty gold.”

“Oh, so we doin’ this now? Then I’m bettin’ he _won’t_ , no _way_ he’s as strong as ya say.”

“Same for me! Can’t just deny the obvious here, Cee.”

“I’ll say he’ll survive, if only to even out the odds.”

Julien claps and rubs his hands together. “Alright, it’s settled. One-hundred gold, fifty each, on whether or not he makes it. Time limit’s up in two weeks,” there was a crooked glint in the glance he gave the long-haired male. “So you better keep us entertained until then.”

Just like before, Ammy couldn’t help the chill up his spine once the pirate captain pins his attention on him. Yet, in spite of the uneasiness invoked within him, the feeling of relief was more great. Even with their sharp eyes and sharper tongues, the crew still admits to finding potential in him, even though it’s a small (and cruelly said) one. All he needs to do now is work hard and prove his usefulness to them.

Not being able to help himself, Ammy grasps Julien’s hands and squeezes them. “Thank you, _Capitano_.” a crescent-eyed smile adorns his face, wide and out of gratefulness.

The only response he gains is a roll of golden eyes and a toned arm wriggling out from his hold. _‘How sappy,’_ frowns Julien, weirded out by how... _warm_ he feels. To pretend that didn’t just happen, he turns to Norrington once again.

“So… ‘bout that spare boat…”


	4. Dumb Deals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Gunn's loot, and now Puerto Mico; the Shatterhands sure are a busy crew.

Norrington wasn’t kidding when he said that Julien wouldn’t like the boat. While the _Corsair’s Pearl_ wasn’t the most impressive anyway, it was still a hell of a lot better than a vessel as embarrassing as this _raft_ he’s currently piloting.

But y’know what, he won’t complain like some little, picky bitch. It’s only temporary, it’s only until they get a new ship, so he’s gonna suck it up and ignore the bewildered stares many passersby are giving him, as he nears the beach of Skull Island.

The one he recognizes first is Dockmaster Dan, a portly, middle-aged man with a large mustache. He was blinking in disbelief as the crew jumped onto the small dock, saying, “Uhh, Eastwick... your ship…”

“Aye, isn’t she a beaut?” Julien knocks on the wood, grinning proudly, yet his left eye twitches as if to say, _‘don’t ask.’_ “She’s the _S.S. Mackerel,_ the _finest_ fishing boat to ever grace the skyways.”

“Right…” knowing that it’s in his best interest to not discuss the boat any longer (and that they can’t park here for it’s an exclusive dock), Dockmaster Dan changes the topic, “Well, perfect timing now that you’re here, Captain Avery wanted me to pass on a message should you ever show up. Something about not being able to call you this morning.”

At that, the crew all glance at each other. This is strange, was their one thought, because it’s not often they’re commissioned a second time by their clients (apparently being ‘too difficult’ to handle or something). And even if it’s just Avery asking, the fact that he needs them again _right after_ completing his request is… _curious,_ to say the least.

“Tch,” the brunet rubs his nape in annoyance. “Whatever the old fart’s up to, guess we’ll just have to see.” he looks to each of his teammates. “Nia and Zak, you’re coming with me. Tay and Cee, look after Mimi in the meanwhile.”

“I think his name is Ailin, Captain.”

“Whatever. Oh, right,” he digs into his jacket pocket and takes out a coin pouch, tossing it towards Otaktay. “Treat yourselves if you want, but you better not waste it all.”

“Heh, that a challenge?”

As they waved Dockmaster Dan off, the six-man group split into two and went their separate ways. Ammy gets dragged by Otaktay and Choua to where the shops are, while Titania and Zakhi follow Julien up the stairs leading to Avery’s Court.

The court is a place where pirates of all classes gather to hone their skills and strategize against the enemies of their leader, Avery (if the name wasn’t a dead giveaway, already). There are five headquarters run by Avery’s strongest fighters, with a clinic amongst them and a life fountain—useful for both healing and transportation—erected in the center. The man himself’s residence stood at the top meanwhile, a small manor with chipping, white paint and a view that goes as far as Skull Mountain.

The _Shatterhands_ trio know they’re being stared at by everyone who’s hanging outside with their colleagues, dubious eyes accompanied by low gossip of either the Frogfather or Gunn’s treasure. They don’t care much for it, though— in fact, the attention was just mildly grating, especially since most aren’t even whispering as they like to believe.

“It’s like they’re goldfish or some shit,” mutters Titania as they walk up the slope. They stop before the large, wooden doors, and Zakhi pulls on the iron handles to let themselves inside.

The office fits Avery well, being as tacky and gaudy as him. It was spacious and filled with relics of different cultures, from paintings to weapons, and the floor was covered in an inordinate amount of miragean rugs. (How many does he even need? He couldn’t have just swap the tiles for carpeting? Ridiculous). Then sitting in the desk at the end of the room was the said captain— lean and middle-aged, in a brown wig and green coat, with his cockatoo, Horatio, standing by his side.

Upon the sound of approaching footsteps, Avery breaks out into a grin at seeing the group of three. “Ah, Eastwick, you made it!” he greets, “I was beginning to wonder where you were, since I couldn’t get a hold of you!”

“Yeah, we were a little busy earlier,” Julien just keeps it vague ( _no reason why I should spill everything_ ), he and his two companions taking a seat in front of him. “Anyway, we heard from Dockmaster Dan that you need us for something?”

“Always a first-things-first man, aren’t you? But that’s what I like about you,” Avery leans forward, hands clasped, a cunning gleam in his eyes. “It’s only been a day, I know, but I don’t think any crew’s more suitable for the job than you.”

Titania’s eyebrow rose at that. “And what is it? Another sailcloth?”

“Oh, don’t worry, this is much more straightforward than that. You just need to make a delivery to Puerto Mico,” suddenly, Avery takes out a couple of items from the desk drawers. Zakhi gets up to collect and pass them along to the others, who start inspecting. One was a wax-sealed envelope, and the other was the chalice they had to bring back— golden and bejeweled, with a Monquistan inscription engraved into the base.

Julien runs a finger along the cup’s rim. He didn’t pay much attention to it back then, but now holding it up-close, he wished that he had kept this and swapped it with a fake. “Have you finally grown a heart and wanna start giving back to those monkeys?”

“Ha! As if I could be so altruistic,” Avery chuckles, “But it _is_ something along those lines, as this originally belongs to the great Ortega family. The Puerto Mican governor is a part of them, so I’m certain he’ll be glad to have this back— hopefully enough to feel obliged to sign my treaty.”

“Treaty? The hell d’you need a treaty for-” briefly, the young captain thinks over his words, until realization hits him in the face. “Wait, so the rumors _are_ actually true? ‘Bout the whole republic thing?”

“Why, yes, I’ve been planning this for years-”

“Christ, Avery, I thought you were eccentric, not outright _mad_.”

“Yer seriously gonna piss off a lotta people for this.”

“But hey, good on you for wanting to try… I guess…”

A scowl now tugs on Avery’s lips, miffed at the lack of support from the very people he’s hiring. “Really, is it so hard to believe in the possibility of my plan working? And how beneficial it’d be for imperial powers like Monquista to recognize Skull Island as a _true_ republic?”

“Maybe so, but no pirate here wants anything to do with politics,” Julien does an up-and-down toss with the cup, like some bored kid listening to adult conversation. “Well, I don’t give a shit either way, so eh, I’ll take you up on your offer. Pretty stupid one, albeit.”

“No wonder your clients don’t call you back… very well, I shall pay two-hundred gold for your troubles.”

“Hmm… too low, make it five-hundred.”

“Wh- that’s too much! And you already have _more_ than enough from the last job!”

“Hey, you said it yourself, _we’re_ going through the trouble of playing messenger for you. So the other three-hundred’ll serve as compensation.”

The elder narrows his eyes. “...if we settle on that three-hundred instead, would that suffice?”

“Three-hundred and fifty, and it’s a done deal.”

“Why, you…”

Julien smirks. “Be sure to pay as soon as we get back,” he then gets up from his seat, envelope and chalice tucked under his arm, his two crewmates following suit. “It’s been a pleasure, Avery.”

With that, they make their leave. Avery watches the door shut behind them, sighing in a mix of exasperation and exhaustion. _‘I’ve to hand it to him, he really knows how to get under one’s skin,’_ he turns his attention back to his paperwork. _‘Wonder if it's due to the Frogfather's influence…’_

⚜

While Ammy doesn't know much about pirates—beyond what he has read from history books, or heard from Deacon along the lines of _“those barbaric scoundrels”_ —he didn’t think a shopping spree would be the first thing he does in this new lifestyle.

He’s in a shabby clothes shop with his overseer, a redhead named Nightingale, since they’re waiting for Silver to finish restocking the lost supplies. He stands in a small dressing room, trying on every article she gives him, one by one, to see if they fit.

“Umm... _scusatemi, ma,_ ” began the rosette, moving the curtain aside to show off the shoulderless blouse and leather shorts combination. (She seems to like wearing rather, erm, revealing outfits, as it’s a majority of what she chose for him). “How much clothing do I need, again...?”

Nightingale looks him up and down contemplatively, the color (colors?) in her eyes reminding him of a stained glass-window. “Well, it depends on your performance for these next two weeks,” she says; but even with passive-aggressive words, it’s hard to discern if she _does_ feel negativity towards him, given that she keeps a _very_ aloof expression. “But for now, we shall get enough to last you until then.”

Ammy doesn’t know how else to reply, except chuckle tinily. She seems thoughtful, at least? “I... I’ll make sure to care for them well, then, Miss Nightingale.”

“Just call me Choua,” she reaches out to brush a few, stray hairs off the shirt, then nods in satisfaction. “You’re one of us now, right? So there’s no need to be so formal.”

_‘One of us,’_ hearing those words aloud was so strange. Maybe because it’s very recent, but everything _still_ doesn’t feel real to Ammy. This openness, this sense of freedom, it’s _way_ too good for him to be true. He’s afraid that all of this might just be a dream, that he’ll suddenly wake up and find himself back on the _Erebus_ — or even worse, back in that tower. Locked up like a criminal, surrounded by cold eyes and cold voices hissing to him, _“you're mine only.”_

Eventually, the long-locked male hears his name being called, which snaps him back into reality. His senses are hit by the faint smell of skysalt, then by the glaring sight of sunlight. _No, I’m here,_ he realizes, _I’m still here._ Not in Valencia, not in that tower— he’s here on Skull Island, walking its beaches under a vast sky, following after a pirate of the crew who (albeit reluctantly) took him in. He’s safe now, safe and _far_ out of _that man’s_ reach.

_(For how much longer, though, is the question.)_

Ammy was scurrying after Choua—his arms weighed down by the many shopping bags of clothes and jewelry—when they later regrouped with the other four at the beach. Julien, upon arrival, said that a last-minute meeting needs to be held, and so led them to where the Kraken Skulls Tavern is.

Though he’s never seen a tavern before, this one looks more like a plain warehouse to him. It’s two stories high, and has a carving of a kraken's head displayed above the entrance. The inside was spacious, having a bar at the left and tables filling up the center, with a large, cellar door located at the very back. Customers bustled about, eating and drinking to their hearts’ content, while bar wenches strolled about to take orders and clean up messes.

One of them lifts her head up to say a standard welcome, when Ammy notices that she quickly becomes tentative upon seeing the crew. In fact, _everyone else_ had quieted down and shot narrowed gazes at them, as they were led to a table in the far-left corner. _‘A-are they famous or something...?’_ he glances at the five, studying their faces— if they knew their presence seemed to be a disruption of sorts, they made no indication about it.

“Damn, Cee, didja overspend again?” asks Otaktay as they all settled into their seats, looking at the haul placed neatly on the floor. The noise seemed to pick up again now that they’re mostly out of sight, and another wench came by, more calm (or just nonchalant) than the others. She carried about a pen and notepad, scribbling down the preferred drinks and dishes Zakhi listed to her in low tones.

“I spend no more than you, though,” Choua retorts with pursed lips. “I don’t recall racking up three-hundred gold over a mere _chain belt_.”

“Hey, hey, hey, it was a pretty good deal for somethin’ made outta mithril. Other vendors woulda sold it for _six_ -hundred.”

“Tay, even if I had enough gold to buy two sets of nakrakundalas, doesn’t mean I should waste it _all_.”

“Psh, agree to disagree,” Otaktay waves a flippant hand in her face, to which Choua gives it swat. As soon as the wench left, he looked towards his captain like the coast was clear. “So, what’s the old fart askin’ for now?”

Julien was tilting his chair back, balancing it on its legs. “A delivery job to Puerto Mico. The chalice we brought in yesterday, Avery wants to use it to get a treaty outta them.”

“Huh? What treaty?”

“You know those rumors ‘bout Avery trying to legitimize Skull Island? All true, he told it to us straight.”

“For real? That’s wack, though, nobody here cares ‘bout laws and taxes, and shit.”

“Honestly. But he _is_ paying us seven-hundred and fifty gold for this, so we figured might as well.”

“Ah, how troubling it is that he’s using us like this…”

Ammy, being the only one left out, simply watches the exchanges between the members. He wonders if he should make a comment too, cast in his opinion, until he remembers he knows nothing about politics. Or really _anything_ in general, no matter how many books he’s read to try and learn as much about the outside world as possible. It’s like being an infant, just crawling through his surroundings without understanding even a lick of it.

The Valencian sighs. _‘I have a lot to work on, don’t I?’_ he broods. But his mood is soon picked up when the wench from earlier comes back with mugs of ale and plates full of skyfood. His stomach rumbles at the sight, having hungered since the incident on the _Erebus_.

He picks his fork up eagerly, ready to dig in even if the smell of salt is strong against his nose. _‘Hmm... perhaps for now, I can start with getting used to food from other places.’_ with that small goal in mind, he starts eating along with the rest.

⚜

Ammy hadn't got to see much of the skyways before, as he’d been mostly stuck belowdecks (except for that one time he threw himself overboard), so being able to see the full thing now is a delight.

_‘You can see forever!’_ his baby-blues widen in amazement. The sunset dyed the skies in a gold-scarlet mix, and spilled orange afterthoughts through streams of high, fluffy clouds. Ships of different sizes and origins sailed through the winds, alongside the birds and fishes passing by them. Tall mountains of emerald stretched across on either side, while two land masses several miles apart from each other stood out in the distance.

Ammy hung by the fishing boat’s bow, leaning over the railing slightly, and relished in the cool air sliding over his skin. If only his sketchbook and colored pencils were here, he’d be able to recreate such beauty right at this moment, but he abandoned them in his haste to escape. _‘I mean, I can always buy another one,’_ he tries to remain positive in spite of the fact (and to stop thinking any more about Valencia). _‘Ah, but that should be after paying off my debt, huh? And in the first place, I still need to figure out how to earn gold…’_

All of a sudden, his thoughts were interrupted by a slight rocking of the raft, the _S.S. Mackerel_ parking at the wharves of Puerto Mico. The colony is surrounded by a high, stone wall for protection, and the only way people can go through are the docks. Stairways are numerous since the city is built on three levels, its buildings on each section made of pristine-white ashlar and topped off with jade-glazed roof tiles. There’s a sense of elegance and splendor to everything, yet it’s all so _small,_ given that a majority of the inhabitants are Monquistans. What the rosette knows about Monquista from his books only goes as far as their general history and how similar their language is to Valencian, so coming here will surely be a learning experience.

The crew’s ship is dwarfed by the much larger ones around them, be it for merchants or marines, all casting wary looks upon them as they jump off the vessel. Ammy is beginning to sense a pattern here, as this is the _second_ time he’s witnessed such reactions towards the members. Although it could just be the, well, _biased_ views Monquistans are quite known to hold against those who aren’t like them, especially if they’re tall and hairless (in other words, humans). _‘Perhaps it’s because of that infamous treasure they found, or so I recall?’_ he bites on the inside of his cheek, standing by and waiting for the anchoring to be finished. _‘But there’s something more to it than that, though, I just can’t put my finger on it…’_

Once they dealt with the ropes and gathered their belongings, the _Shatterhands_ head for the first level. Stalls were set up all over the streets in long rows, and people bustled about to either look at the goods or barter with vendors for lower prices. While some didn’t care to have a group of humans towering over them, most went out of their way to avoid touching them when passing by, their small noses turned up in disdain. They pretended not to notice, though Titania and Otaktay returned the gesture with immature faces of their own.

They soon arrive in front of a building that, while aesthetically the same, is actually larger than all of the others. It hung an iron-wrought sign titled _“Xavier’s Inn”_ beside the entrance, then had a chalkboard stand of room and menu prices placed nearby. Looking through the tavern’s windows, most of the occupants inside are humans, pelicans, and dogs.

“ _Bienvenidos,_ dear customers,” greets a well-dressed clerk from behind the counter, sitting on a stool chair with a thick log-book laid out before him. “Have you only arrived?”

“Correct,” Choua replies, taking her coin purse out as she approaches him. “And it’s our first time here, too. This city’s really beautiful.”

Her words led the clerk to smile. “I’m glad to hear that, even in spite of how my countrymen see you humans. You would think they’d grow used to it after living in Skull Island for a while,” he then picks up his quill pen. “Ah, forgive me, I didn’t mean to ramble. So, you’re here for a reservation, _si_?”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind. And yes, we’d like to have three rooms for a three-night stay.”

“Alright. And what name and ship is this reserved under?”

“Choua Nightingale of the _S.S. Mackerel_.”

Briefly, the clerk pauses in his writing. “Pardon?”

“We're a crew of fishermen, sir,” Choua ‘elaborates’ with a deadpan stare. The clerk looks the new guests up and down, becoming even _more_ skeptical, but thought it’d be best not to ask.

“...anyway, three nights will cost you a hundred-twenty gold,” after she pours out the exact amount, he quickly records the transaction, before handing her a trio of keys. “Right up ahead, your rooms will be at the end of the hall, numbers thirty to thirty-two.”

“Thank you very much, sir.”

“Of course. Please, enjoy your stay.”

With that, they made their way upstairs and down the long corridor. Rooms thirty and thirty-two were on the right side, and thirty-one was across from them. The sleeping arrangements were decided as soon as they got there, with Julien and Titania pairing up with Zakhi and Otaktay, respectively, in the even-numbered rooms. Left to the last room, Ammy is once again placed under Choua’s care, which actually comforted him, since he finds her the easiest to get along with.

She opens the door for him as he drags in their bags. The room was small, with a single bed and a window overlooking the streets. Even smaller was the bathroom, squishing in the shower, toilet, and sink against each other.

“My, how cramped,” comments the redhead as she looks around, “You aren’t claustrophobic, yes? We’ll need to share the bed.”

“Oh, not at all! But, ah, is it alright to sleep beside someone you don’t know?”

“I think I will be fine. It’s not like you can cause much harm, you’re too weak-looking.”

“ _Ca-capisco_ , ahaha…”

“Anyway, I need a shower, I still smell like gunpowder. You don’t mind if I use it first, do you?” but before Ammy can even reply, she just goes in and closes the curtain after her. He figures he might as well rest as he waits for her and flops down on the mattress, gazing up at the ceiling.

All was silent, aside from the sounds of running water and Choua humming a random tune under her breath. The long-haired male doesn’t know how he’ll be able to handle this, sleeping beside someone else, who he barely even knows. It’s a bit odd, considering he didn’t mind it when the pirates kept pulling him this way and that earlier, but sleep is somehow an _entirely_ different manner. It keeps reminding him of that tower, in a fetal position with veins full of ice, cold fingers grabbing thin neck, _“you are my most perfect doll.”_

When night comes to take him, he can hope that it’ll be gentle to him this time.


	5. Meet Your Doom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Shatterhands originally came for a diplomatic meeting, but ended up going into something that's much more profitable.

Although Choua isn’t the best when it comes to emotions, she’s still able to sense that there’s something off with her charge.

It’s early in the morning, and the _Shatterhands_ were at the inn’s tavern for breakfast. Piping-hot, Monquistan cuisine and mugs of café con leche were spread across the table, forks and knives clacking noisily against the metal plates as they heartily dug in. They spoke of trivial, random things while at it, which blended in with the conversations of other guests around them. Only Ammy kept quiet, more focused on eating his portion, but with less enthusiasm compared to the rest.

Choua doesn’t know what to think about him— or, to be more frank, doesn’t think much _of_ him. A wide-eyed stutterer with apparently no backbone, as he’s always giving in to her demands without _any_ sort of protest. She may have betted for his survival, but now, she’s starting to wonder if that was really a good idea at all. _‘And not to mention…’_ the redhead glances over to her right, with Ammy being oblivious and munching away on a piece of tostada. She spies the bags under his eyes, no doubt formed from his little episode a while back.

For some reason, that sight was stuck to her mind like chewed tobacco, of him convulsing on the bed and frantically whimpering _‘no, you’re hurting me’_ under his breath. It took about a good five minutes to wake him up, as nudging or light slapping didn’t cut it, so Choua had to resort to picking up and dropping him on the floor. And yes, she’s aware that her actions were rather harsh, especially towards one so distraught— but it _still_ proved effective in awaking him, or else he wouldn’t be sitting here and eating with them as of this moment.

_‘Must’ve been a nightmare. Perhaps of his time on that ship?’_ she theorizes, recalling yesterday when Ammy clung onto Zakhi as they sped away from the _Erebus_ , and blubbered out multiple thank-you’s that were barely comprehensible. She’s now seen how ruthless those Armada guys can be up-close, raising hell upon anything they deem to be even remotely offensive, so it’s no wonder that he full-on _begged_ to be allowed into the crew.

_‘Yet, from what I’ve heard, the leader was so fiercely protective of him. Was he like a pet for him or some higher-up? Wouldn’t make sense, though, considering they're not supposed to feel-’_

Suddenly, Choua’s train of thought was brought to a halt when someone’s fingers gave a loud snap in front of her face. She just blinks instead of flinching, and her stained-glassy eyes travel up to meet her captain’s. He snorts, amused, “For a second there, I thought you were gonna join your friends on the other side.”

“I’m not so easy to get rid of, Captain,” she retorts, then bows her head a little, “But do forgive me for not paying as much attention as I should. We were discussing something important, yes?”

“Only today’s negotiation. Y’know how I gave you the chalice for safe-keeping? I’m gonna have you present it to him while I do all the sweet-talking,” explains Julien as he sips on his coffee.

“And we’ll be on standby in the lobby in case things happen to go south,” Titania adds. “Though, that defeats the whole purpose of being here, huh?”

“Let’s not speak it into existence, we’re already not welcomed ‘ere as it is,” Zakhi procures his pouch from his coat pocket, and tosses out enough coins to cover both the bill _and_ tips. “This is so far our easiest mission yet, so we should be done within an hour at least.”

Otaktay nods in agreement. “How hard can it be to get someone to sign a piece of paper, anyway?”

⚜

It’s official— Puerto Mico is, by far, the _worst_ place Julien has ever visited. Which is amazing, actually, since it’s only been a _day_ into this visit. He didn’t even think a location by itself could piss him off, yet the inhabitants continue to prove how much of a headache they are to deal with, maybe even more so than Avery.

...wait, no, he’s still the worser one, since he’s the pain-in-the-ass who made him and his crew sail all the way out here in the first place. And for what, diplomacy? With _these_ guys? _Get fucking real._

Julien rotates his neck to pop out the kinks, the corners of his lips twitching into a frown. _‘`Treat it closely` my ass, I already know what the answer’ll be,’_ he thought, _‘Should’ve known from the beginning that this would happen, so fuck me, I guess…’_

He stomps down the palace’s grand staircase with Choua in tow, their clothes jingling with every bit of movement. He still can’t believe he _let_ himself be talked into this outfit, humiliated by wearing something that made him out to be a fool. No, literally, from the gaudy colors to the annoyingly-loud bells, Julien looked like a damn _court jester_. The fact that it was the pinnacle of Monquistan fashion last year is also astounding, how in the Spiral did people cope with _wearing_ this? _When I get my hands on that majordomo, I swear to_ fucking _god…_

_“You,”_ the other members, who’d been standing around in wait (as sitting in any of the chairs or couches would collapse under their weights), look up to see their captain and witchdoctor reach the bottom step. He was pinning a scowl on his newfound object of disdain, Señor Sastre, the governor’s majordomo who acts like he’s got a stick up his ass all day long. “You made us wear this _knowing_ how’d he react.”

In response, Sastre merely wrinkles his nose at him. “It’s not just the clothes, you know,” he began, tone snobbish and akin to a parent looking down on their stupid child, “Even without it, His Excellency _still_ wouldn’t accept your proposal, especially not when you’re giving him such an embarrassing gift.”

“The hell? Ain’t it his stupid chalice first?” Otaktay furrows his brows in confusion.

“While it’s for Governor Ortega, it’s not for Governor _Medina,_ ” Choua was quick to explain, carrying Julien's hat and coat for him after he removes them. “Even if he is Ortega’s replacement—apparently, he’s sealed in a dark pit for treason—he’s not in any way connected to the chalice, therefore rendering it useless.”

“Then what the fuck are we supposed to do with it now?” asks Titania, “We just keep it? Even after sailing _all_ the way out here?”

“Your problem, not mine,” Sastre said, “If only you riffraff were more cultured and refined, then you wouldn’t feel so humiliated in the first place.”

Zakhi rolls his eyes. “Are ye always this nitpicky with everyone, or are we just a special case?”

“Who else would be? You should be grateful that someone as gracious as _I_ is willing to educate you.”

“Aye, I’m learning a _lot_ from ye right now.”

“Good to know,” whether the majordomo sensed his sarcasm or not, he made no indication of it. “Ah, well, if you truly _do_ wish to rectify this situation and redeem yourselves, I happen to know of a way to do so.”

Ammy, the only one who kept silent, watches the surprise bloom on the five’s faces. They didn’t expect to hear that, since it’s coming from someone who was insulting them only a few minutes ago. Not to say their interest wasn’t piqued, though, as they rarely get Monquistans for clients— and if what he says is true, then they might as well hear him out.

Shifting his weight onto his right foot, curiosity starts to flicker in Julien's candlelit gaze. “And what’s this solution you speak of? In fact, why even help us?”

“It’s not a matter of helping you, don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m merely relaying a message from the Bishop Hidalgo, it’s he who seeks to use your bold and cunning. You _are_ up for it, right, with you being the finder of Gunn’s loot?”

“I’ll need to see if it’s worth it first,” Julien smirks, “What sorta mission would a man of the cloth even have for me?”

“Go to San Mandrillo Cathedral if you want to learn more. But for pity’s sake, not dressed like _that_.”

“Even though _you’re_ the one who made me buy this crap?”

After that exchange, the gang makes their way out the large doors. The cathedral the Majordomo described wasn’t that far, only a couple of stairs down to the right, so their walk didn’t take very long. It's built with the same materials as with all the other buildings, white ashlar and jade roofs, except its twin bell towers loom over and cast them under its shade. There were numerous monks and nuns, with their religious habits and rosary beads, coming and going through the premises. Eyes full of bafflement were shot at them, likely unnerved by the sight of roguish-looking people approaching holy ground.

Though he usually ignored the attention on him, finding it to be no more than a nuisance, Otaktay does an abrupt snort this time. “Won't it be funny if we immediately burn upon entry?" he jokes, opening the entrance for the others, "Us bein’ sinners and all.”

“Someone better get the holy water quick,” quips Zakhi as they herd into the cathedral, “We might even grow horns an’ start possessing people.”

Ammy couldn’t help but let his jaw slightly drop at the sight. Long, velvet purple rugs stretched across the marble-white nave in between the rows of pews, while a large circle with the emblem of Monquista laid smack dab in the middle. The walls were covered in stained-glass windows and stone statues of saints, with frescoes on the ceilings depicting angels in flight in great detail. It was all so beautiful and familiar to him, leading him to remember his childhood days of attending mass and reciting prayers with the other gatherers. ( _‘Do you remember how to do the cross, mio caro? Here, it goes like this—’_ )

“Greetings, _Capitán_ Eastwick,” a voice resounds across the room, and everyone looks up to see a man standing by the altar. He’s dressed in a red mitre and robes, and holds a golden scepter bearing a cross. “My name is Bishop Hidalgo, but I assume that the Majordomo has told you about me.”

“That he did,” they went to sit in the first two rows—given their larger stature—not caring if they hadn’t been asked to, but it seemed like the bishop didn’t mind. “Not so we can pray, however.”

“That’s alright. We have much to speak on that’s of great importance, anyway.”

“Of course. Though I gotta ask, why request the services of a pirate when you have Monquistadors that can easily do the same?”

“We did, at first, but the demands of honor make it impossible for any of them. You’re frankly our last resort, acting where our strongest cannot.”

“Eh, fair enough. So, what’s the job?”

“Simply put, you must go find our general, Gortez, in the heart of the Isle of Doom,” Bishop Hidalgo informs.

Titania blinks, incredulous. “Sorry, you want us to go _where_?”

“Ah, no, it’s named after its discoverer, Baron Ferdinand von Doom… who was unfortunately eaten by a giant snake in the end,” at least His Excellency has the nerve to sound flustered, “I hear it’s very pleasant, actually! Granted you avoid the swarms of carnivorous bees, flesh-eating plants, and savage frogs with poisonous skin…”

“...huh.”

“Right? I’ve no doubt you'll do very well there.”

“...anyway, what’s the deal with this Gortez dude? You want us to retrieve his dead body or somethin’?”

“Perhaps I should start from the beginning…”

⏳

_Four months ago..._

_The sound of rushed footsteps echoed through the hallways of the monastery. Bishop Hidalgo followed after the abbess, who was directing him to where they kept the sick and injured._

_“Here,” they stopped in front of an opened door, the smell of herbs and alcohol wafting out, “I’d advise that you tread carefully here, Your Excellency, you don't want to catch anyone's diseases.”_

_“It’s alright, I have faith that the Supreme Primate will protect me,” and with that, he proceeded to walk into the room. Rows of beds faced each other in two aisles, and nurses were going to and fro to care for the bedridden men. They all look worse for wear, either coughing their lungs out or having their limbs wrapped up in gauze._

_The moment everyone took in his appearance, they all went to stand up (or at least tried to, in the patients’ case). Bishop Hidalgo made a gesture of assurance, as if to say not to worry. He muttered a prayer for healing under his breath, and swiftly drew a cross up in the air._

_“Your Excellency,” began the abbess once he was finished, pointing towards the far-right corner of the room, “The soldier, he's over there.”_

_Nodding, he made brisk strides to where the man was. There he laid, his face sweaty and fevered-red, groaning in pain while a young nurse held onto his hand for comfort._

_“How is he?”_

_“A little better than yesterday, but his fever has yet to go down even with the amount of coriander I’ve put into his medicine.”_

_“Do you think he's at least well enough to speak?”_

_“I’m not sure, but you can try,” the nurse scooted aside to let Bishop Hidalgo stand beside her. Against the advice from the abbess, he placed a hand on the soldier’s chest and shook him as gently as he could. It managed to do the trick, and his eyelids fluttered open slowly._

_“You… Your Excellency…” stuttering, he struggled to sit._

_“No, child, it’s okay. I just need to ask you a few questions,” the bishop said. “You were a part of Gortez’s troops, correct?”_

_“Y… yes…”_

_“Can you explain to me what happened? What do you remember seeing?”_

_Even when close to unconsciousness, he seemed nervous. His eyes were looking nowhere, yet everywhere all at once. He licked his lips for a bit, dry and chapped, before answering, “The general… I knew he was going through some difficulties, but… but I think he's gone mad…”_

_Bishop Hidalgo furrowed his brows, confused. “Mad? How so?”_

_“He… he built a kingdom for himself… rules it like a tyrant…” suddenly, the man’s breaths were coming in short, like he was going through a panic. “There's also… also something you should know, Your Excellency…”_

_“What is it?”_

_“He found it,” he gripped the nurse’s hand tighter. “The Gold Monkey… he_ found _it.”_

⏳

Like the good pirates they are, the gang’s ears all perk up in intrigue. “Gold Monkey? As in a monkey made out of gold?” Choua is the first to ask.

“I mean, the name should be pretty obvious, Cee,” Titania retorts.

“I just need to make sure in order to keep a lookout for it.”

“But… it’s already in the _name_.”

“…I will not repeat myself.”

“You just did-”

“I will _not_.”

“To be fair, you’re both dumb,” Julien cuts in right before their bickering could continue, leading both women to toss light scowls at him. He just waves them off flippantly, his attention turned back to Bishop Hidalgo, who to his credit, looked as if this was just a normal occurrence. “Anyway, I already get the gist of our job, so let’s talk payment. You must’ve heard that our services don’t come cheap, right?”

“Of course, I expected as such. The Majordomo and I have arranged for a thousand-gold reward, along with the assurance that the governor signs your treaty, should you succeed.”

“Ah, right. Almost forgot that we orig’nally came here to do that.”

“Man, to hell with that old fart. I’m really likin’ this Gold Monkey, sounds _way_ more profitable.”

Julien reaches out to flick Otaktay’s nose. “Calm down, it’s only ours to return.” he pulls his fingers away just as he could bite on them jokingly, and looks to His Excellency once again.

“So, when do we get started?"

⚜

After they found a merchant to buy gear, supplies, and more personal items from, the _Shatterhands_ would board the _S.S. Mackerel_ and set out for the Isle of Doom in the evening.

The skyways had a twilight-indigo tint, the first sign of stars beginning to peek out and scatter themselves all over the place. Clouds of magenta were rolling by slow, and while it’s pretty to look at on its own, the way they darkly outlined the island made it seem more intimidating than necessary. Why, it might as well be the setting of a penny dreadful now, complete with lightning strikes in the background and bloodbats flying out from the mountains.

“Yeesh,” Titania wrinkles her nose, grabbing her haversack and sword once the boat is properly anchored. “The ‘doom’ part's becoming more and more fitting longer I look at it.”

"So much for it being a ‘pleasant’ place," Zakhi agrees as everyone hops down to shore, their cavalier boots kicking up a bit of sand, a cool, dusky breeze whistling through and tickling their skin. Numerous chests and barrels were littered about the beach, and banners bearing the Monquistan emblem hung torn from their posts in sadness. The merchants _did_ say that contact with the gold miners have been cut off for weeks due to hungry fish and the Scurvy Dogs’ presence, so it's no wonder all this stuff is lying out in the open so carelessly.

They head for the opening a little ways up ahead, stone columns and stairs built into the rock and bearing Cohuatl [1] runes. It led to a long, dark cave where the only source of light were the rows of burning torches hanging on the walls. When they came out, they were greeted by the sight of a vast, green scenery, full of palm trees and high ledges, and the resounding rush of a waterfall. In the small lake it oversaw, there was a leaning tower made of the same materials as the entrance sinking downwards, and was connected to the rope-adorned scaffolding erected beside it.

The sound of their footsteps instantly drew gazes from the laborers sitting by the small huts, keeping warm by the fire and eating what little rations they have left. Eyes widening, many of them burst into noise, their surprise at seeing new people—even if they’re humans—expressed into thrilled Monquistan that overlapped each other. One of them stood up with the help of his cane, most likely being the foreman they were told to see.

“My, we haven’t gotten any visitors in a while!” he exclaims, approaching them, “What brings you all here, especially in the dead of night?”

“Foreman Salazar, right?” asks Julien, “We’re here on Bishop Hidalgo's request. Ah, we also got provisions for you and your men, courtesy of Mr. Arroyo.” he gestures to Chavi behind him, who does a snap of her fingers to summon a couple of dark portals and drop large sacks of food and canteens onto the ground. Normally, seeing her magic at work would put off most people, but the workers were too distracted by their hunger and thirst to care.

_“Cálmense, estoy seguro de que hay suficiente para todos,”_ Foreman Salazar admonishes his men as they make a grab for the items like it’s the end of the world. “Please excuse their behavior, we’ve been so starved as of late, we nearly ate our clothes. Come, do join us, food always tastes better when there’s more of us!”

“Don’t mind if we do, then,” the crew follow Foreman Salazar to one of the huts, and plop down on the wooden floor in a circle. They, too, were feeling quite hungry, so it didn’t take long for them to dig in along with the Monquistans. Conversations among them began to fill the air as well, noticeably more cheerful than when they arrived earlier.

As they pick at their meal and drink from their flasks, the foreman then speaks, “So, tell me travelers, what has Bishop Hidalgo sent you here for?” in between mouthfuls of his banana. (If Ammy recalls from his books, bananas are a precious—almost sacred—fruit to the Monquistans, so it’s no wonder they were in a rush to obtain them).

“Well,” Otaktay wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “He’s payin’ us good dough to look for this Monquistador. What was his name again, Gordon?”

“Gordon…? Oh, you mean Gortez?” surprise colors Foreman Salazar’s face, “Him, really? We actually sent out search parties for him before! But we never could find him, plus many are too afraid of what lies in the jungles to push forward.”

“Isn’t this supposed to be a really nice place to see, though?”

“Indeed, it very much is! Just don't drink the water, it contains brain-eating parasites.”

“‘Course,” _first monstrous spiders, and now this. What's next, undead lizards? ...oh, wait—_ “Wouldn’t want to die right before we can get to him and the Gold Monkey.”

“Treasure hunters, are you? I hear it’s an amazing find, a statue of solid gold taller than a tree!” in spite of his words, Foreman Salazar fell into a sense of solemnity, his brows creased in worry. “Yet, I hear it’s cursed, dooming anyone it falls into the hands of. And that might just be Gortez— clearly there are things here men are not meant to disturb.”

Most people, _normal_ people, would find themselves unnerved by the mention of a curse, _especially_ when it’s said to claim the lives of those who failed to heed the warnings. Ammy felt a shiver walk down his spine, and it didn’t help that there was a cool breeze brushing against his face. Knowing that tomorrow, he and the others will have to brave the shadowy depths out there for the mission, is frankly terrifying to him (and he was never that good with ghost stories, anyway).

He takes a quick glance at each of the five, curious as to how they feel about this, only to see them looking… _calm_? No, it’s more like they’re… _indifferent_ , like there’s nothing that can perturb them by even an _inch_.

“Doom and gloom, eh?” Julien said, bringing his flask up to his lips. The flames of the campfire were reflected in his eyes, turning that usually golden gleam into something as dark as a starless void. “Just our type of fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1]: Ngl, I didn't like the fact that KI used an actual name for their Nahua-based world, so I decided to change it to Cohuatl, which translates to 'serpent.'


	6. Jungle Troubles (pt. 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Shatterhands must brave the depths of this doomful jungle in order to learn where the hell is Gortez and the Gold Monkey.

Ammy had always liked being in nature. He can remember those days in his childhood of wandering through the forest— sometimes to sketch any bugs that flitter by him, and other times to pick flowers or climb trees with the other kids in town. _“Fear not, my prince!”_ warm, high-pitched laughter would ring in the air, sunshine caught in dark curls and bouncing along to every wield of a wooden stick picked up from the dirt. _“For I, your brave and noble knight, shall come save you from your tower!”_

So in the morning, when the _Shatterhands_ prepared themselves to venture into the jungle, he’d figure he’ll be fine. It’s the same as going through the woods, right? It’s not like he’ll be alone (he was tasked with carrying all the bags, so being anywhere else wasn’t an option), and the Valencian can be careful in where he steps or what he touches. Plus, if they _did_ run into any problems, he knew how perfectly capable the other five were in dealing with it.

Well, that was until he was overcome with the jitters once they stepped foot in the area. It was humid and dark everywhere he looked, and the warm drizzle from the sky made the dampened earth smell fresh. The only reason why he was still able to see—albeit slightly—were due to these ornaments hanging from the canopy, large and spherical, and showing off the path in a pretty-teal glow. Besides a few birds trilling from the branches, no other living beings were present except for themselves. Doesn't stop him from feeling nervous, though, wondering if those frog-men ( _no, Ammy, the correct name is Troggy_ ) will come and find them.

“Just look at this place,” Zakhi’s nose scrunches up. “No wonder those guys keep getting lost.”

“Not to mention it’s hard to see even with all these lights,” adds Titania, “Just how in the hell are we gonna find them?”

Otaktay rubs his chin in thought, his one eye scanning over the scenery. “At least they’re not too far away,” he says, certain, gesturing at the ground. Several items were scattered about, belts and daggers that look to be of great value, glimmering in the distance. Each had a crest engraved into the metal, varying in design and family name, so it’s safe to assume they belong to the Monquistadors. “All this must’a been dropped by them, maybe in their haste or ripped off’a them by Troggies.”

“Plus, I could still smell hints of fur and bananas,” Choua sniffs the air, her eyes closed in concentration. “Maybe over… there?”

With a flicked-out hand, her index finger points to the northernmost direction—just where Foreman Salazar said—on the other side of the rushing river below. Given the darkness, it seems like she’s pointing at nothing, until outlines of vague shapes could be picked out when squinted at closely. And while it could very well be meaningless, it never hurt to be thorough, so the crew decided to cross the bridge a little ways nearby and check it out anyway.

When they arrived, they found the place to indeed be a campsite, a ruined one at that— with tents knocked over, Monquistan banners ripped apart, and the campfire in the center long been put out. Numerous arrows were also stabbed into the earth, some broken in half, and others having bits of flesh and blood dangling from the shaft. The sight made Ammy’s stomach churn, frightened (obviously) by the possibility of someone out there waiting for the chance to attack or even kill them. He watches how the other five inspect the area, eyes sweeping in such a casual manner, it borderlines blasé. _‘Does this not scare them?’_ he wonders, finding their expressions rather off-putting, _‘I mean, they_ are _pirates, but... this is still unsettling, even just thinking about it…’_

Squatting, Julien leans in for a closer look at the ground. “Huh… seems like our tiny soldiers befriended some Troggies, either today or yesterday,” he reaches a gloved hand out and traces over the prints of boots and webbed feet, mishmashed together into a frenzied pattern. “Bit hard to tell which direction they took from here, though, since they overlap.” his head tilts back slightly to ask, “Any other ideas you guys got? We need something else to work with.”

“Not a fuckin’ clue, dude,” it is Otaktay who replies, picking up objects that were littered here and there, then just tossing them aside once he saw how truly useless they were. “Can’t even find anythin’ of value here, it’s all dirty laundry and spoiled food.”

“Least they left us their valuables back there,” Titania said, also kicking away some junk, “We can sell them to traders, and if we say we got it from the dead bodies of Monquistadors, they’ll probably pay _more_ for it.”

Zakhi, who’s been on the lookout for any threatening forces, rolls his eyes at their conversation. “What’s the point o’ selling if yer just gonna scare or gross them out first thi-” suddenly, just as he takes a mindless step back, the heel of his boot hits against something round and solid. His tongue clicks in light annoyance, glancing back to see what had gotten in his way, when he mutters an ‘oh?’ in surprise. It was a rock, but the obvious fact of it being a rock wasn’t what piqued his interest— rather, it is what’s _on_ it that did.

The blue-haired man plants his knee on the floor, and wipes off some of the dirt before taking a proper look at the rock. His violet eyes narrow at the content, pressing his lips into a thin line with a little more concern now. “Oi, guys,” he calls out, “I think I got something on our tiny soldiers.”

Their attention grabbed, the rest of the crew proceeded to go and huddle over Zakhi's kneeling form to see what his deal was. Then, simultaneously, all of their eyes widened in surprise at his find. Across the rock’s surface was a message, shaky Monquistan scrawled in fading ink, _‘Troggies destruyó el puesto de avanzada. Huyendo a la cueva al sureste de aquí. Enviar ayuda.’_ A single letter, C, was placed right below, no doubt the signature of a member of the camp.

“Nice one, Zak,” Choua gives him a soft pat on the head as a way of praise. “And to think we almost missed it.”

“The power of Lucky Zak,” hums Julien, amused, “How ‘bout translating the message as well, and see if you can get it right in one go?”

Zakhi snorts, “I’d love to try, but my luck doesn’t go _that_ far,” as he grabs onto Choua’s hand, stopping her headpats, and using it to hoist himself up. “Tay should do it, instead, since this is right up his alley.”

“Eh? Do I _really_?” said person wrinkles his nose like he’s being asked to do his chores. “It’s such a pain to translate shit, though.”

“Then who else will? The rest o’ us can't speak Pollish as well as ye can. An’ isn’t it pra’tically the same as Monquistan, too?”

“Well, yeah, but some of the connotations are different. Like they could just be talking ‘bout dessert, but I’ll be over here thinkin’ they mean pus-”

“‘Kay, we’re getting _way_ offtopic here, are ye gonna translate the bloody rock or not?”

“Alright, alright, ya fuckin’ tight-ass—” however, right as he was about to move, Otaktay does a sudden pause and glances over his shoulder. He zeroes in Ammy standing in the back and watching them converse without contributing much to it. His right eye narrows in thought, twinkling like an emerald, _‘Wait, ain’t he…’_

“Oi, you, Pinky,” he jabs his index finger at him, who jumps up a bit in surprise. _Really, Cee, of all the guys to bet on…_ "How similar is Valencian to Monquistan?"

“U-umm…” being put on the spot so abruptly, it took a moment for Ammy to give a response, and winced when Otaktay scowled in impatience. “Pr-pretty similar, I’d say…”

“Then make yourself useful and translate this message for us,” Otaktay demands, “And ya better not fuck up, ‘cause we ain’t gonna wait all day for ya to get it right.”

“Is this alright?” Titania murmurs to Julien from the sidelines, “You know we’d get done faster if Tay just does it.”

Julien shrugs. “I mean, he’s not wrong, though. Twinkie over there wasn’t doing much besides carrying our shit, so why _not_ let him have this one moment? And if he gets it all wrong, well, it’d make for some entertainment, at least.”

In the meanwhile, Ammy, wincing some more at the Cool Rancher’s hard stare, complies with his request and approaches the rock. Like what the others had done earlier, he drops to a crouch so he can scrutinize the writing more closely, tucking a few, stray strands of hair behind his ear. _‘Now let’s see…’_ he scans the words as carefully (and quickly) as possible, already recognizing a few here and there. He’s rather surprised that he still can, it’s been _years_ since the rosette has read anything in Monquistan. In spite of taking part of a mission as serious as this, he couldn’t help the nostalgic feeling in his heart, memories of smooth pages and warm blankets flowing through his mind. ( _‘The fish-knights tale again, eh? [1] Hehe, I’ve read this to you so many times, but you never seem to get tired of it.’_ )

After several minutes or so, he stands up to better address the others, baby blues glowing in certainty. “Southeast,” announces he, “After this outpost got destroyed, the men fled to a cave that’s located southeast of here.”

Choua frowns (except it’s _so_ slight, that you have to squint to be able to tell). “What? But we _just_ came to this side. Are you sure you’re right?”

“Unfortunately, he is,” Otaktay vouches, looking down at the rock again with a tongue click, “Shit, woulda been funnier if he was wrong.”

“Thought you didn’t want him to fuck up, though,” Titania does a little snort, “Ah, but good for you, huh? Turns out you’re not _that_ much of a sitting duck.”

“Ehehe… _gr-grazie, comunque_ …?”

Now with a location pinpointed out, the group—much to their chagrin—head back to cross the bridge. It wasn’t hard, but it still wasn’t easy trying to find the cave, having to walk around for several minutes until they were able to spot its mouth at the very far end of the left. There was nothing particularly interesting about the outside (just a few, large pieces of rock scattered here and there), except for the torch standing by the entrance's side innocuously. Normally, it wouldn’t be something so odd to see, if it weren’t for the little flame that continues to burn on even underneath this drizzle. So obviously, the survivors of the outpost _must_ be in here; but at the same time, it could _also_ be occupied by a group of Troggies who are using this cave as a trap.

Well, it’s not like the _Shatterhands_ members are worried by the latter, having been through ambush scenarios multiple times by now. They even keep _score_ on it, wanting to see just how many ambushes they can get themselves into, as if they’re hoping to break some sort of record and get a prize for it.

Fearlessly—or to be more accurate, _nonchalantly_ —they strode right into the cave’s darkness. In order to make sure they don’t get lost or crash into something, Choua flutters her eyes a few times, until its usual-kaleidoscope color lights up in a solid pink. It was bright yet not too harsh, shining against the moist, rocky walls in soft hues, giving it the feeling of a seedy, underground club gone literal. (Ammy was half-expecting to smell cheap rum and cigar smoke by this point).

The pink glow would eventually meld with the reaches of a dim orange when the pirates arrived at the back of the cave, and came to see the encampment they anticipated would be there. It clearly hasn't been here for very long, given the haphazard set-up of the tents and supply crates, while pikes and crossbows were thrown across the floor as if they were litter. The occupants, all Monquistan soldiers, look as exhausted as the next— bags heavy under the eyes, faces drawn in gaunt lines. But at the sound of approaching footfalls, their heads snap up in alert, still having enough energy to stand and draw their weapons in ready.

_“Halt,”_ one of the Monquistadors call out; he seems to be the leader, judging by the way he stood front and center of everyone else. _“Who goes there?”_

_“Not the Troggies, if that's what you're worried about,”_ Otaktay steps forward to speak, the Pollish words flowing out of his lips like a steady waterfall, though his accent was more low and gruff-sounding, _“It was Salazar who directed us to here.”_

_“Salazar?”_ the leader widens his eyes, and everyone lowers their guard when he does so. _“Then… does this mean you're here to rescue us?”_

_“...sure, if that's what you want. Frankly speaking, though, we need to find where Gortez and the Gold Monkey are.”_

_“Ah, the Gold Monkey, a marvel you won't find anywhere else. Tall as a beacon, made of polished gold that shines in the darkness.”_

_“Wait, but I heard that it was a tapestry instead,”_ someone, bearing a crossbow, piped up from the side, _“It's supposed to be made of a thousand gold plates and strung up with emeralds!”_

Ammy, being the only other person able to mostly follow along (the other four just watching and wondering what the hell was going on), tilts his head in confusion at the soldiers' claims. _‘I... am starting to think they have very different ideas about what the Gold Monkey looks like…’_

“Uh-huh…” the eyepatched male was wearing a similar expression. He shook his head a bit to snap back into concentration, returning to Pollish, _“...well anyway, do you know of a way to get to them?”_

The men laughed at him, mocking, _“Oh, good luck with that. If not for those frogs, you would have to deal with the carnivorous bees blocking the passageway. One of the men got too close the other day, and had half of his face eaten off.”_

_“We can still handle it!”_ a sudden falsetto rings out. Puzzled, everyone turns to the back, and even Ammy flushes slightly at his own outburst. He clears his throat for a bit, nervous with all the attention now on him, before continuing, _“A-ah, I mean… even if there are difficulties, we can overcome them if we put our minds to it.”_ he bit his lip shyly, fingers fiddling with the straps of the bulging haversack he was instructed to carry. _“And your comrades are still out there, right? We can help you all if you'd let us.”_

The leader furrows his eyebrows, and by the expression on his face, he was considering Ammy's words carefully. His gaze darts from him, to Otaktay, then the crew in its entirety. “Just… who _are_ you people?” he questions, accented voice heavy on the universal tongue.

At that, the crew of (originally) five all gave each other glances, their brows also lifted, but more so in slight amusement. “No one too special,” answers Julien, lips twitching into that usual smirk of his. “Just some greedy people looking to make a profit.”

⚜

“You want us to do _what_?”

After convincing the Monquistadors to cooperate and sending them on their merry way back to the gold mine, via a dark portal Choua conjured up, the _Shatterhands_ crew and their bag-boy crossed the bridge once more to go east as instructed. Funnily enough, the entrance they were told about wasn't actually that far-off from the outpost, being situated at the very back like it didn't want to be found. And there was indeed that infamous bee swarm they heard of, buzzing about the path in tight groups so nothing will go past them. They could see how they pose as an issue, but with Otaktay being a hunter who can sniff out which plants to use as deterrents, their faces manage to avoid getting chewed off as they quickly slipped through the passage.

When the group made it to the other side, the members felt a sense of déjà vu when they saw the ruins, being reminded of their time in Xol Akmul. There were four temples—possibly having been a village or place of worship—all facing one another in the cardinal positions, age chipping away the Cohuatl symbols engraved into the stone. Overgrown trees stayed up on the cliffs, while the ground was considerably flooded, and the water would probably meet the middle of their shins if they took a step in it. Nothing seemed too out of place for them to pick out, maybe except for the wooden gates on the far right, that looked to be a newer addition; and this is where their current situation is at right now.

“You heard me,” retorts the gatekeeper, Aguirre, as he points his pike at them with a scowl. It’s rather, well, _odd_ to see a Monquistan look like this, as they’re all about being prim and proper, and would probably rather be caught dead than wear the same leaves and feathers as his. “If you want to get through, then you have to prove yourselves worthy to us.”

“An’ to do that, we have to finish _yer_ dirty work?” Zakhi frowns back at him, tapping a finger against his thigh impatiently. He kept his peripheral vision on Julien, concerned; he may be hard to read at times, but considering the event from four years ago, he knows that going along with this won’t be good for him. It’s actually a _miracle_ that he’s never done anything drastic to _that_ group, even when his views on them run deeper than plain loathing.

“Sorry, dudes, but rules are rules,” said the Troggy youth, Hopper, who stands beside Aguirre. Even _more_ surprising than his leaves-and-feathers outfit was seeing him look comfortable enough to be around, much less _work_ together, with a Troggy; if the men from the cave were here, they’d immediately want to resort to killing. “Our leader doesn’t allow outsiders into the village, unless you’re willing to assimilate.”

“I’m not sure how pursuing Armada soldiers in a pyramid is a step towards assimilation, though,” Choua tilts her head in confusion. “Can’t you and others in the village do it yourselves?”

“We already are, but we’ve not as many men nor firepower as they have. That’s why we’re giving you this task; if you _truly_ want access to this place, then you _must_ help us as we would for you.”

“Yeah, man, what he said! Plus, you would _really_ impress our chief if he sees you siding with him. So c’mon, what d’you say?”

The five pirates all glance at each other, eyebrows furrowed and noses wrinkled in reluctance. They’ve _just_ dealt with the clockworks like some days ago, why do they have to show up _again_? Plus, they now have a stowaway to care for in the next couple of weeks, and unless they decide to make some sort of death pact, they don't want to catch their attention for parading their little lord around.

Thing is, they have a job to finish, and Gortez and the Gold Monkey are right behind those walls. So really, there's only one thing left to do…

_‘Ugh, the things we do for gold…’_ Titania grumbles to herself as her elbow softly nudges her captain's arm, catching his sidelong attention. “I can take two others and lead an attack in the pyramid, while everyone else stays here to play messenger.” she suggests, going into her role as second-in-command easily. “Then once we finish up, you can already start making your way inside to do whatever.”

Julien inclines his head, contemplative, yet still looking unsure. “Sounds like a good plan, Nia, but the last time you were alone with clockworks, our ship got blown up.”

“Oh, shut it,” groans Titania as she gives him a lazy push, making him sway a bit in his place. “I already said I’ll get another one for us, _bigger_ one at that, didn’t I? What more do you want from me?”

“Hey, hey, I’m just joking,” Julien pouts, rubbing his arm like her push brought him some sort of pain. “Seriously, though, something weird _always_ happens to you during your morning routines. You sure you’re not cursed or anything?”

“True, like that time ya got into a fight with a rat gang for just bumpin’ into one of ‘em.”

“Or that time ye got chased by three girls ‘cause ye lead all of ‘em on.”

“Or when we found you sleeping on a shipwreck in the middle of a windlane.”

“What is this, ‘Titania roasting day’?” the blonde scowls at her crewmates, cheeks flushed in embarrassment from having to recall all of those episodes. She _hates_ that they’re right, because though she goes on morning walks to calm her hungover mind, half of the time, it ends with her trying to get out of some bizarre situation. _Perhaps the gods have forsaken me or something, I don’t know._ “You’re all arseholes, why do I even stay around?”

Julien sounds out an exaggerated coo, “‘Cause you love us too much to.” with a hand reached out to squish Titania's cheeks. He laughs at the disgusted face she pulls off, even as she swats him away and pulls back his fingers like she means to crack it, but not putting in enough force to.

“Yeah, though I’m starting to regret it now.”

“Boo, and here I thought you were fun.”

After their back-and-forth bickering, the captain does give his approval for Titania’s plan, and she chose to bring Otaktay and Choua with her. They head for the northernmost temple, as instructed by Aguirre and Hopper, which wasn’t that far as it was only a few feet away from where they came from. They climb up the long flight of steps to reach the very top, sending a collective, two-fingered salute to the other half of the crew down below, before disappearing into the darkness beyond the entrance.

“Is that fine?” questions Aguirre, skeptical of the idea that a three-man group is enough to fight against numerous clockworks, “Leaving all the work to them?”

“Yeah, dude, don’t you think you should help?” Hopper pipes up in agreement.

Internally, Ammy agrees with the two, since logically, it would be faster and more efficient if everyone had come along. He watches Julien in a curious manner, who merely shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest, and seemed nonchalant overall.

“They’re made of tough stuff, they’ll be fine. I wouldn’t have let them go if I thought otherwise,” he answers, knocking his knuckles against Zakhi's shoulder, “They’re guys who I trust the most, after all.”

⚜

The most annoying thing about venturing into these temples, Otaktay decides, is the water. It smells like mold and is hard to walk through, given that it goes up to his knees, so now he has to suffer wearing wet pants and boots. A very unsexy situation in his book, though it’s not nearly _as_ bad as that one time in the Presidio, when he somehow ran into and planted his crotch against a Monquistador’s face (the others wouldn't let him live that down for _weeks_ ).

“D’you even know how to find ‘em?” Otaktay asks, grunting peevishly as he adjusts the strap of his ‘baby’ so it wouldn't get wet. Not only were the floors flooded, it was dark as _shit_ in here, too; and with his vision already cut in half, seeing becomes a helluva lot harder to do. The only reason why he’s not tripping all over the place is thanks to Choua, who sticks close to his blindside and uses her eyes as a torch once again, this time a bright, white glow.

“Well, sure, just look out for a mask and black uniform,” remarks Titania, one hand on the hilt of her sword, and the other patting along the walls for balance.

“Perhaps we should rephrase, do you know _where_ to find them?” Choua deadpans, head tilted, curious as to what the answer will be.

Titania groans, feeling as if she’s being provoked, “Do I _look_ like psychic to you guys? We’ll find them when we find them, so be patient and shut your traps for now.”

“Ugh, but I don’t wanna take any longer just to find those stupid clockworks. My feet are startin’ to kill me and the air in here’s gonna make us stink _real_ fuckin’ bad later.”

“If only all clockworks had a soul, then I could just locate them and bring us to them faster. But alas, a manual search is the only way to go.”

“Man, Jules and Zak—oh, and I guess that pink dude, too—are lucky they ain’t have to do this. Whereas we’re gettin’ water in our pants and smellin’ like moldy ass.”

Choua shoots the white-haired male a sideways glance, as if to say, _‘you know what ‘moldy ass’ smells like?’_ However, there's something else she was curious about, something that kept tugging on the strings of her mind. “Actually, why _didn’t_ we bring them along in the first place? Surely we could add to our numbers and be able to cover all our bases; though I suppose Emi wouldn't be of much help to us.”

Her question makes Titania look over her shoulder with a puzzled stare, blinking quickly, like she heard something unbelievable. “Cee, did… did you _forget_?”

“Forget what…?” Choua's head tilts, still unable to understand. “Was it something important?”

“Nia, she wasn’t actually there to see it,” reminds Otaktay, also feeling the need to back up the redhead. _Compared to her, we did_ way _worse…_ “She was still in bedrest after her accident, remember?”

“I know, but… y’know how Jules was after _that_ …” that sight continues to lurk in the back of Titania’s mind, _her captain on his knees with that pocketwatch in his hands, dyed as red as the red he saw in his eyes—_

“That?... oh, yes, that’s right,” the realization finally hit Choua, now able to recall the gloomy cloud that hung above the other four when she returned to them. ( _‘I’m fine, Cee, you don’t need to worry—’_ ) “Pardon me… I did not mean to let slip of that memory, even for a moment…”

“No, no, it’s fine. Just…” ( _‘I said_ not _to talk about it, Titania!’_ ) “Let’s just keep moving… we’re already wasting too much time…”

The other two nod, this sudden turn of conversation making the group feel awkward ( _torned_ ) altogether. It even left them staying silent for most of the way, aside from making small tidbits here and there, the hissing bugs and splashing water being the only things that echo across the tunnels. For a bunch who usually banter and bicker with each other often, it was odd, _rare_ , for them to be under this kind of atmosphere; then again, discussions about the past can be a sensitive subject for anyone, really.

_Even after five years, there’s_ still _a lot we don’t know about one another… does that make our bond weak? Does it make it fake? Why should it be so important, anyway—?_

All of a sudden, just as they were about to turn a corner, Titania halted and raised a hand behind her, leading her companions to follow suit. She then gestures to her ear, letting them also hear the clicks and whirs in the near distance, before shifting a bit to peek out. Making sure that she wouldn’t be seen, her eyes scanned the area ahead; it was _crawling_ with Armada soldiers, left and right, up and down. The water jumps at their every move, limbs stuck out in stiffly perfect lines, back and forth like the figurines of those tacky cuckoo clocks (except more literal, a designed nightmare brought to life).

_‘Man, even when hungover, how did I_ not _recognize them?’_ the blonde curses to herself. As she does a quick count of the soldiers, she notices how they don’t go further down, but instead stay in one general place. Perhaps they’re supposed to guard something, she thinks, a proper plan now forming in her mind. She returns to the others, and through a flurry of hand signs, she explains how they can get rid of the clockworks across the whole tunnel.

“ _Finally,_ you know what to fuckin’ do,” signs back Otaktay with a snort, sidestepping Titania’s slap on his arm. Then under a concealment spell Choua casted upon them, they slowly waded past the troops in a single file, still close to the walls to avoid bumping into any of them. Even when invisible, it was _so_ nerve-wracking, trying to slip under the radar without being noticed or making a single sound.

Fortunately, they made it to the other side without much trouble, stopping right by an arc that’s built into the rocky walls. Once more, the same ticks and stomps could be heard nearby, but strangely, alongside the sounds of… ringing? No, _hammering_ ? _‘But they’re clockworks, what could they even_ want _from here?’_ Titania wonders, _‘Gold? Well, maybe, but it’s not like they can feel greed, or anything at_ all _.’_

“I’ll handle things here,” Titania’s thoughts were interrupted by Choua’s low murmur. _Oh right, the plan._ “So just focus on the ones up ahead.”

Nodding, knowing that the redhead’s magic would make things run along more smoothly, she and Otaktay link arms as they proceed forward together. The closer they approached, the louder the noises grew, hands reaching for their weapons in anticipation.

When they arrived, the duo saw that they came upon a cave; humid, spacious, and having long spikes protrude from the ceiling. On the left side, there stood a large disk made of gold and engraved with Cohuatl symbols. It shines brightly in the darkness, showing off the rows of tables filled with maps and dig kits, and the clockworks that are either digging up rocks or pouring through their research. As Titania and Otaktay had guessed, this is an excavation site, but for _what_ is the question (for later, though, they still have a job to finish and some Monquistans to placate).

“Think you can handle this?” asks Otaktay while taking out his ‘baby,’ a double-barreled shotgun that’s sleek and nearly as long as his body. He clicks it open to insert several bullets, his right eye flitting up to count how many targets are there.

Titania rolls her eyes at his question, “I can ask the same for you, Tay,” and unsheathes her kopis, its shiny and single-edged blade curving downwards. She twirls it around for a bit, lips twisting into a hungry grin and adrenaline now thrumming through her body. “Bet I can kill more, too.”

Otaktay glances at her, narrowed, “You're _so_ on,” then flicks the barrel back into place. “Loser gives up forty-five gold.”

“Deal.”

And with an exaggerated step, the two pirates charged at the clockworks, swords swinging and bullets blazing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1]: The story being referenced here is called "The Knights of the Fish," and it's a Spanish fairy tale about two brothers who were born from fish pieces, and would grow up to save some princesses from a witch and a dragon.


End file.
